Solitude
by InfiniteLoveLiz
Summary: Alexandreina Drogmir is just a girl working at the L'Opera Populaire, she is supposed to be spying on the people there for her 'mother' the Prima Donna. Alexandreina wants to live a life of her own, or a least a place of her native tongue. Erik is alone, cursed to live in the Hell he had created, under the Populaire. Two souls, one story of an unsual romance.
1. Chapter 1

The silence that engulfed the stage at night was the whole reason I went there at night, sometimes I would just sit at the edge, looking around the room, sometimes I would spin in perfect ballet circles.

Nighttime was the only time I could sit on the stage away from the cruel, prying eyes of 'mother.' The Prima Donna herself. I had been sent to live her, at The Opera Populaire, to spy on the people here, and see who was talking about my mother behind her back, and to get dirt on people she didn't like so she could get them fired.

I sighed, and pulled a lock of my thick black hair. I hate Amelia, her, and her husband, had ruined my life by taking me in and making me a pawn in their ridiculous, childish games. I hadn't had a home, but I had everything I'd needed, food, places to go, and they had taken me from there when I was 12, kept me for about a year before sending me the Opera to do her dirty work.

Of course, I extracted my revenge, by getting her to fire most of her supporters, but still.

I did several duties here, where ever I was needed cooking, cleaning, dancing, and when _she _was here I was also personal assistant. The list went on. The people were suspicious of me at first, but they warmed to me within a reasonable amount of time.

As nice as it was, I didn't particularly warm to them. They were nice, always inviting me to the after parties, always polite. I just didn't feel close to anyone. It wasn't their fault, it's just how I am.

This night, my feet dangling over the edge of the stage as I stared back into the blackness all the candles blown out, save for one, flickering candle I used to help guide me from my chambers, to this very spot. My mind wandered to the rumors of the the Phantom. His story had been told tonight, about his golden eyes of death, warning people to keep the hand at the level of their eyes.

I disregarded it as nonsense immediately, but it was still nice to think about, late at night when no one was around. Like ghost stories that you're told as a child that stay with you.

Sighing, I decided it was late and I should probably head back to my chambers to try and get more then my usual hour of sleep. I plucked my candle from the ground, shuddering at the cold the huge, empty room had, before starting my journey back to my room.

I was walking to my chambers, my bare feet making a whisper against the stone doors, when I heard footsteps, and one set a voices.

I am not a nosy person, but I knew if it was any of the authority figures, I would be in trouble for being out of my room so late. Especially if it was Madame Loise Giry, she was really a stickler for me not going anywhere alone. Or anyone, for that matter.

I licked my fingers and pinched the light, and it went out immediately. I hid behind a corner, although, with how pitch black the hallway was, and how dark my nightgown was, I highly doubted anyone could see me at all.

"Erik, this is a genius plan for the dancers. I will try it out and see how it goes." Madame Girys voice was loud and clear. Making me not regret my decision to hide.

"Very well." An unfamiliar, baritone voice sounded. I assumed that this was Erik. I saw them pass by, Madame Giry was barely visible, and the only thing of Eriks I could see was the white ivory of a mask. I bit my lip to hide a gasp when I first saw it. Why would someone wear a mask, in the presence of someone you were on a first name basis with? Why wear a mask at all? And why make the mask to seem like there was nothing but bone there?

All questions I would never find the answer to, but still, I was filled with curiosity.

When they had disappeared from my sight, I hurried to my chambers and very quietly closed the door behind me, I knew my way around my room in the dark well enough, so I could place my candle on the nightstand and laid on my bed with a sigh. I was so closed to getting in trouble tonight, it was scary.

Morning brought with it a rush of breakfast (of which I had a small crepe and some water) and a mad rush of dance practice, Madame Giry had us dance for hours, until we got her new dance done to her satisfaction.

Then, there was a Gala of some sort that the owners hosted, where I obtained an invite merely for the fact that Amelia requested the presence of her 'cherished' daughter.

What a sack of putrid shit.

After the Gala, some of the dance girls and cast members decided to have a party of their own, where I stopped by to see everyone, in the middle of a telling of Le Fantome. I watched one of the cast members grab the hand of one of the dance girls, Mildred I believe he name was, and he declared how the ghost ate women, and killed men whom got in his way.

I hadn't meant to, but I snorted, loudly, and drew all eyes to me.

"You don't believe in the Opera Ghost?" He asked, approaching me.

"No. That story is rubbish. There is no Opera Ghost." I crossed my arms and met the gaze defiantly.

"Well then. Maybe the phantom will visit you!" He declared, laughing.

I raised a brow. This young man. Robert? Randy? Oh, bloody hell. It was something with an R. He had been a thorn in my side every since he got a job here at the opera. He had worked his way through all the dancers, twice. Save for me. Because I was one conquest he knew he would never have. Especially after the tenth time he had asked me out to dinner, and I told him he was wasting my precious time with his constant meddling and asking and inquiring as to when I would go out with him, which was going to be never.

I did not find him attractive in the least. Whiny, a lack of work etiquette or a code of conduct, he was pale and overly muscled, with hair he often dyed, he had a voice that he purposely made deep and husky to appeal to girls, and his eyes were watery, as if he would cry at a moments notice, though he put of a 'manly man' face in front of girls.

After that my outburst at him, he had decided to become increasingly more annoying then I had ever imagined one gentleman could be.

"There is no Phantom. You're filling these girls brains with rubbish that is told to children to make them behave." I huffed and crossed my arms. Looking about as menacing and my 4' 11" frame could.

R (I shall call him that for the sake of not knowing his name.) Just laughed more and mutter a well see.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few weeks were filled with childish 'pranks' played upon me to get me to believe in this opera ghost. Notes would be left conveniently where I would find them, like under my door. My things would go missing from my bed chambers. I would turn to address someone at dinner and my plate would be gone, left only a note that said O. G.

One particular morning, however, after my spare leotard and my only hair brush had gone missing, I had had enough. Fuming, my black locks a mass of wild, Romanian curls that I had yet to conquer that day, my aquamarine eyes glinting with an icy fury, I stormed the Opera until I found R.

There, in front of Mademoiselle Giry, I did something totally unladylike, and unexpected of me.

I punched R right in the face. Hard. And even though I tip the scale at only 105 pounds, I put all the strength I had gained from dancing, and from scrubbing walls and floors to be allowed to live here.

Basically, I hit him really, really hard. Enough that he fell. Mademoiselle Giry looked a mixture between horrified and amused, because to punch this jerk in the face, I had had to jump a little bit.

But I stood there, ignoring Girys presence for the moment, seething in anger.

"How dare you." I breathed. "_How dare you!_" I repeated a growl. I had knocked R to the floor, where he sat, holding one side of his face and staring at me in shock.

"It is one thing to leave silly little notes and take small things to get me to believe in your utterly ridiculous Opera Ghost bullshit." I glared. "But it is another thing entirely to break into my room and _go through my belongings._ I want my only hairbrush, and my leotard, in my room, in 5 minutes, or you will face a wrath more serious then one your silly little ghost can produce."

R stared at me for a moment, before I tapped y wrist. "Clock is ticking." With that, he scrambled onto his feet and ran off in a direction away from me and Mademoiselle Giry.

"Come with me." Giry declared, and I obediently followed her into her office, where she sat across from me and offered me a peach tea, which I gratefully accepted.

"Would you care to explain why you just assaulted poor Ronaldo in the middle of the stage?"

Mademoiselle asked me.

_Ronaldo. _So that was his name. Figures. Ronaldo was the name of lovers in trashy romance novels many of the dancers read. _**~(A/N: I'm not dissing anyone reading this named Ronaldo. But I had to trash someones name. PM me and ask for my middle name so I can make you feel better about yourself.)~ **_

I threw my hands up in the air, the peach tea perched precariously on my lap, so I moved it back onto the dresser she had.

"It's ridiculous! He was telling the dancers that nonsense story about the Opera Ghost. To which I told him there was none. So what does he do? He tell me that maybe Le Fantome will pay me a visit. Ever since then my stuff has been going missing. My drink, one of my shoes, my plate at dinner. I know its him that is doing it. But I _had _to draw the line when he broke into my quarters, whilst I was asleep, mind you. To steal my leotard and my hairbrush." I raked a hand through my hard curls, growling again, the sound came out more animal then Giry and I expected, and I rubbed the back of my neck.

"It's hard enough trying to have my own space when my adoptive mother is Amelia. Surely, you know." Giry chuckled at that. "So my chambers are my chambers. And, like everyone else that lives here, I should be able to sleep in peace without worrying about some neanderthal breaking into my room and taking my things to prove a point."

"I shall have a word with Ronaldo. This will not happen again. You have been a very hard and dedicated worked to L'Opera these past seven years."

"Thank you, mademoiselle Giry. I really am very grateful for this." I met Girys gray eyes and she smiled and me before fixing the plait of her gorgeous light brown hair.

That night, I stood in the kitchens, cleaning the dishes. After a while the chef and attendants had gotten quite yawny and sluggish, and I had sternly sent them to bed with a promise that I would finish the dishes for them. No, here I stood, in my pajamas, the black sweats hung low off my hips, and the black tank top flashed a sliver of my stomach since it had ridden up while I was washing. I had three, no, four dishes left, and I was singing under my breath as I scrubbed hard on a particularly stubborn spot.

"I've got my bags, I'm good to go.

You met me at the Terminal..."

The slight creak of a door ceased my quiet singing immediately. And without turning around I stated, quietly but very clearly.

"Hey, I organized all the drinks and fruit and stuff, which is why im still in here, it should be easier to find if you're hungry."

I hard a dark, somewhat familiar chuckle, and turned to see a white ivory mask barely an inch away from my face. An icy hazel eye glittering in what could only be called amusement. A sudden rush a realization hit me, this was the mad mademoiselle Giry had been seaking with a few nights prior.

"I am not hungry." The stranger murmured to me. "Do you know who I am?" He asked suddenly, changing the topic.

"Well, you are wearing a mask, monsieur." I stated. "So no, I do not know who you are."

I turned back to my dish washing duty, and heard him chuckle as he moved away from me.

"Most people run in fear from me, especially children yet you do not." He murmured, more to himself then to me.

"I am not most people, monsieur." I glanced at him, being able to only see half his face, the half not hidden under the mask was very handsome, he had long, dark hair slicked back. He seemed to stand tall (and tall he was, sing my 4' 11" frame only came up to the bottom of his chest.) He was poised with grace and elegance, but also something very, very deadly. He quite reminded me of a tiger, or a wolf. Any kind of large, deadly animal like that.

I looked at my hands while I washed the dishes. "I am not afraid of strangers, nor men in masks, I am not afraid of the dark or of being alone. Also, I am 20 years old. I am no child."

I could feel his eyes burn into my back and he seemed to choke on something, I turned to see if he was alright, and caught the incredulous look upon his face. "You surely are not 20."

I sighed and fished my identification out of my pocket, handing it to him, I finished up the dishes and turned to watch him study its authenticity.

"You are the Prima Donnas daughter?" He asked, giving me an unbelieving look.

"Adopted." I motioned to myself. Me and Amelia looked nothing alike, she had light brown hair, a tanned, Italian complexion, hourglass figure, and startlingly green eyes, she was also tall, at a striking 5' 10".

Me? I had wild Romanian curls that, as my hair grew longer, fell into wide, beautiful spirals, my hair was the color of a ravens wing. My skin was pale, like that of ivory, my cheeks were forever rosy, as if I was blushing, and my aqua eyes always seemed to be shadowed by my long, thick lashes. (The only two things that seemed to be decent to me.) I felt like I was forever stuck in a pre-teens body, save for my rather large breasts, which were practically walking hazard signs. Generally, I hated the way looked.

"I am so sorry." The man said.

I gave my usual smile, never showing my teeth, just the small upward curve of the lips. "She sent me here, so it's not so bad."

I ran a hand through my curls as I sat across from the stranger. "So, do you work here monsieur? Are you new here? I have never seen you in my seven years here."

"Work...I suppose you could say I do. In fact" He chuckled to himself. "You could even say that I practically run the place. I have been around a very very long time, Mademoiselle Dragomir."

I folded my hands upon the table and stared at him. "I'm sorry monsieur. I do not know your name..?"

"You may call me Phantom."

I stared the man before me. And stared. And stared some more, before finally, I laughed, the hard kind of laugh that comes from your belly.

"Ronaldo put you up to this?" I asked. "That man will go to any lengths to get me to believe that ridiculous story of his. You poor soul." I leaned over and patted his back gently, a bit of my naturally Romanian accent slipped through, and I tried quickly to cover it up.. "You are working for a womanizing fop, you realize this, yes?"

"For a woman of the 21st century, you're way of speaking is quite dated." The man pointed out.

"I know. Proper grammar and some education never killed anyone, even an orphan." I pointed out. "Also, if Amelia found out I wasn't speaking properly, she would find some way to get me fired or humiliate me. I won't risk it."

The stranger nodded. "You should get to your chambers. There are far more dangerous men in here then I."

With a swish of clothing, I had blinked, and the strange man was gone from the kitchens.


End file.
